


The past beats inside me like a second heart

by Thedawnofdoom



Category: The Flight Attendant (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Depression, Doubt, Dubious Consent, F/F, Injections, Memory Loss, Miranda is her own warning, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Spanking, Scars, Smut, Tranquilizers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:00:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29439372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thedawnofdoom/pseuds/Thedawnofdoom
Summary: What do you do when you don't know who you are... where you are... what you've done?When you can't trust yourself, who can you trust?Unable to get answers from your supposedly wife, you're forced to seek the truth on your own. But, the truth doesn't always set you free...You've awoken to a nightmare, your life a vacuum, past vanished.. or stolen. And all that remains is a hot, unsettling stranger who claims to be your wife.
Relationships: Miranda Croft/You
Comments: 29
Kudos: 35





	1. Confusion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkGirl/gifts).



> I will add more tags as I update xx  
> Have a nice reading

It comes to you suddenly, without prior hint or warning, as you take in the far too bright light of the room, the overwhelming sterile smell, that while you know exactly where you are, you have absolutely no idea _who_ you are. You know that you’re wired to a hospital bed, the door to your room propped open, and nurses and orderlies walk by, their sensible shoes squeaking on the pristine tiles, yet you can’t recall your own name. Furthermore, you can’t remember whether you are married or single, widowed or divorced, childless or the mother of twins. You don’t know your height, weight, or the colour of your eyes. You know neither your birthday nor your age. You can identify the different colours of the room’s little decoration but can’t remember whether you’re a blonde or a brunette. What in God’s name is happening?  
For an insane second, you think you might be dead, but the nurses outside your room, looking right at you as they write things down, probably whatever rates that machine you're attached to is reading, tell you otherwise. Clearly, you aren’t dead. Just as clearly, you aren’t invisible.

“Stay calm…”

You whisper to yourself, searching for clues in the sound of your voice, but even it is unfamiliar to you. It says nothing of age or marital status, its accent nondescript and noteworthy only for its undertone of anxiety.You raise a hand to your lips and speak inside it as not to attract undue attention. 

“Don’t panic. It’ll all come clear in a few minutes.”

Are you normally in a habit of talking to yourself?

Through the door, a doctor followed by several nurses walk inside. They’re smiling but look serious. Seriously smiling, you think, feeling yourself smiling in response. So many questions leap from your brain to your tongue that they start stumbling over one another, and block each other’s exit.

“Your wife is waiting in the next room and is very anxious to see you. Do you think you’re up to it?”

His voice is gentle, yet your eyes fill with tears.

_Wife…?_

It takes all your strength to push the words from your mouth. Even then, you noticed he has to lean forward to hear you.

“Are you sure? What makes you so sure?”

Ever since you woke up, you’ve been asking a million questions. What happened? Why can’t you remember? Who are you? That was until a woman had shown up, claiming to be your wife and you don’t even have the faintest idea who she is. After having spent hours and hours trying to figure out a single clue about yourself, you can’t help but keep wondering- _Is it really that simple?_ -  
Do you just say yes and meet that woman, go with her and one day remember your life? What if she’s lying? But, then again, the doctors seem to trust her. You fight the sudden impulse to leap from the bed and flee the hospital, seek out the obscurity of some hotel room, and hide under the covers. You force yourself to remain where you are. Where could you run to after all? Aren’t the doctors and your wife huddled in the next room, dissecting your past and making pertinent decisions about your future?

“Mrs Croft brought photographs, your passport, your marriage license. it’s you.”

“What did she say about me?’

“Why don’t you let her speak for herself?” 

He turns towards the door.

“Please..”

You beg, the urgency in your voice stopping him.

“I’m not quite ready yet.”

Returning to your side, he kneels, forcing your eyes to his.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. She’s your wife. She loves you very much.”

“But what if I don’t recognize her? What if I look at her, and all I see is the face of a stranger?” 

He remains silent and you sigh.

“Are you ready now? I don’t think it’s fair to keep her waiting much longer.”

You nod hesitantly, but whatever you may face in a few moments is bound to happen. You can’t simply hide in this room forever, much to your dismay. And then he opens the door and steps into the hall. You stand up, then quickly sit back down, then immediately stand up again, hurrying to the wall and positioning yourself beside the window. The two nurses watch you with bemused curiosity from the other side of the room.

“It’ll be alright. She seems like a very nice woman.”

“But, what if I don’t recognize her?” 

You repeat, panic filling every pore.

“What if I don’t know her?”

And as your eyes land upon the woman, you realise-

You don’t.


	2. First Acquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet the woman who is claiming to be your wife. But, can you trust her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a nice reading

The woman who precedes the doctor into the room might have been anyone. She is perhaps late forties to early fifties, pretty average height, straight brown hair. Her features are sharp, defined cheekbones, piercing blue eyes almost grey and thin lips. Indeed, the only thing that marred the otherwise near perfect cast of her features, is a nose that is slightly off angle. It humanized her, rendered her more accessible, instantly likeable in some way. She isn’t some perfect barbie doll; she wouldn't be expected to be barbie either.  
She rushes towards you, an instinctive act. Just as instinctively, you recoil. Both of you come to abrupt stops. 

“I’m sorry.”

She says quickly, in a voice that is at once gentle and strong, her scottish accent very identifiable. 

“I’m just so relieved to see you.”

She pauses, shifting her gaze from your frightened face to the floor, biting back _tears_.

‘“You don’t know me, do you?”

It’s your turn to apologise and you venture a meek-

“I want to.”

“I’ll leave you.”

The doctor states as he heads for the door. You mumble a thank you and watch him close the door behind him. As soon as you are alone with her in the room, you feel the energy shift strangely, though you can’t put your finger on what it means yet. 

“I feel like I’m on a blind date and I really want to make a good impression.”

A laugh catches in her throat.

“And I thought I was prepared for just about everything, but I have to confess that I don’t know what to make of this situation.. I’m not sure how to act.”

She lifts her eyes from the floor, returning them to your worried face. 

“So, this has never happened to me before.”

You state rather than ask.

“Fuck, no.”

“Why do you think it’s happening now?”

She shakes her head, her confusion too expensive for words to contain.. Her long, thin fingers clutch at the air, as if trying to grasp the larger picture of what is happening to their lives and bring it into sharp, clear focus.

“Why aren’t I wearing a wedding ring?”

You ask, catching everyone, including yourself, by surprise.

“I mean, you’re wearing one and I’m not. It seems a little unusual.”

Your voice trails off, disappearing into the still confusion of the room. It takes her a minute to respond. 

‘’You haven’t worn one for a while.”

She says slowly as you look at her for further clarification.

“You had some sort of allergic reaction to the gold. Your fingers became very itchy underneath the band and the skin got all flaky and red. You took the ring off one day and never put it on again. We kept saying we’d replace it, get you something with diamonds instead - nobody’s allergic to diamonds, we’d laugh - but we never got around to it. To be honest, I’d forgotten all about it.”

She shakes her head, as if amazed she could have forgotten anything so important.

“You’d be amazed at the things you can forget.”

You say, seeking to reassure her. She laughs and suddenly you’re laughing as well.

“Everyone I spoke to says you’re so nice...” 

It comes out of nowhere, yet you had to mention it. She sighs, the air sliding from her mouth in ripples, like a wave.

“What can I say that will reassure you? Tell me what I can do to help.”

You edge yourelf gingerly away from the window closer to where she stands, careful to leave a space of at least several feet between you.

“How long have we been married?”

You ask, feeling infinitely foolish.

“Eleven years.”

She answers simply, no attmept at embellishment. You like that. 

“What day did we get married? How old was I?”

“We got married on April seventeenth, 2009. You were twenty-five years old.”

“That makes me thirty-six?” You ask, although the answer seems obvious enough.

She nods briefly.

“Would you like to see a copy of our marriage license?”

You nod, moving closer to her side as she reaches inside her pocket to pull out your certificate of marriage. 

**_Miranda Croft_ **

Not even her name says you anything.

“It says we got married in Conneticut.”

You note, aware of the warmth emanating from her body.

“That’s where you’re from. “

“How did I end up in New York?”

Miranda grins. 

“You married me.”

You bite your lip, not ready to discuss your life together. You need to digest more facts about yourself first, to come to your marriage with some sense of personal history.

“Would you like to see a copy of your passport?”

She asks, offering it forward, as if it is a piece of evidence and this hopital room a court of law. Your eyes quickly scan the small booklet, finding nothing of interest apart from your maiden name and the picture, which looks terrible to say the least. Your body inches closer to her side, so that your arms are touching as she shows you the offending paper.

“Do I work?”

“No.”

_Oh_

“You have a degree in English literature, but my hours aren’t really dependable, so you stopped searching for something as a way for us to spend more time together. We wanted to make sure we didn’t lose the closeness we’d always had.”

“Sounds like the perfect mariage.”

“Well, nothing’s perfect.”

She pauses.

“We’ve had our shares of arguments, just like everybody else, but on balance, I think we’d both agree we had something speacial.”

You find yourself aching to believe her. 

“Where do we live?”

Miranda smiles.

“Outside the city, it’s very quiet and peaceful.”

Yet not peaceful enough to prevent you from losing your memory.

“Would you like to go there?”

“Now?”

She gently touches the side of your arms. You feel a current, like an electrical charge, travel along your skin to the base of your brain.

“Trust me.”

You nod.

“Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update daily as much as I can <3


	3. Fatigue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda is being nothing but nice to you, but how much of it is true?

Don’t panic, a little voice repeats silently in you ear. In another few minutes, it will be all over. What will be over? You demanded of the voice. What exactly will be over?  
Calm down. Calm down. Try not to get excited. Try not to got upset. You know you only get into trouble when you get upset.  
What do you mean? What trouble? What trouble do I get into when I get upset?  
Relax. Try to stay calm. You know it doesn’t do any good to lose your temper.  
How do I know that? How do _you_ know that? Who are you?

The voice is swallowed by Miranda’s.

“What are you thinking about?”

She asks, watching you intently. She looks as if she’s afraid you might bolt from the car.

“Where did we go on our honeymoon?”

You have absolutely no idea where the question came from and if Miranda thinks it a strange one at this particular time, she says nothing, simply answering the question.

“The Bahamas.”

She says,watching the road, waiting for the flow of traffic to resume. Your imagination immediately brings forth images of white sandy beach sand bright-blue water, of wildly coloured fish swimming just beneath the ocean’s surface, of attractive low buildings in shades of pink and yellow, of lovers joined at the hip, barely able to keep their hands and lips to themselves as they flirted with the water’s edge.  
You see yourself, wearing a modest black bathing suit, the choice of colour a puzzle to you. You see Miranda beside you, watch as you trip over each other’s feet as you sought to keep in step while wrapped in each other’s arms. You see you give up the attempt and collapse onto the cool white sand, rolling over one another as if you were waves.  
You see the both of you later in your hotel room, your bathing suits now in a careless heap on the floor. You are a round ball of arms and legs, your bodies shiny with sweat as they arch toward one another, your hands falling to the small of her back, Miranda’s lips grazing the tips of your breasts. You watch her head move between your legs as you slip your tongue into her slick heat. You groan out loud.

“Are you alright?”

She asks quickly.

Please don’t ask me what I was thinking, your eyes beg hers, and she doesn’t. 

“I’m fine.”

You reassure her, trying to blink away the stubborn image of your lovemaking. Are you really so good together? Are you really that provocative a lover? Are her hands as gentle as the hands your mind has lent her?  
You direct your gaze out of the side window and are surprised to see how quickly you are moving. As if she could read your thoughts-

“It should just be another few minutes.”

You try to smile but anxiety seizes your lips and keeps them resolutely straight. A fresh fear invades your body like a steady stream of ice water. It travels from your breastbone to your bowels, and for an instant you thinks you might have to tell Miranda to pull over and stop the car, but the urgency fades just as quickly as it had come, although the fear doesn’t. 

“There we are.”

Miranda points.

“Third house from the corner.”

It is no more, no less, imposing than any of the other homes in that area. It’s an inviting, two-storey structure, painted white, a double row of red and pink impatients below running along its base, underlining its storybook appeal.

It looks to be a very comfortable house in a very comfortable neighbourhood. You could’ve done a lot worse than to find yourself sitting in a new-model BMW in front of a beautififul home in the tiny suburb, married to an attractive and sensitive business woman (That’s what she had told you about herself).  
So why choose to escape into an hysterical fugue? What had driven you out of this life?

She pushes open the front floor, then stands back to let you step inside. You hang back, half expecting her to scoop you into her arms and carry you over the threshold, as if you were newlyweds making your first entrance into your new home.  
In many ways, this is exactly how you feel. Your heart beating nervously with the excitement at beginning a new life, the trempidation that accompanies that first step into the unknown.

You exhale a long breath of air and force your eyes to focus on the small front hall, papered in delicate red flowers. The hall narrows once it passes the painted white staircase, leading to the rooms at the back of the house.  
You walk slowly into the middle of the hall and stop, not sure whether your legs would sustain you.

“Do you want to lie down?”

Her voice is soft as a blanket and you long to curl up inside it as she wraps her arm around your waist leading you up the stairs toward your bedroom. It’s at the left end of the hall.

“What are all these other rooms?”

“Why don’t I give you a tour in the morning?”

This time her voice is light, but it carries traces of a more serious undertone, as if she feels there has been enough revelations for one day. You merely nod as you step gingerly into the room, suddenly careful not to stand too close to the woman whose bed you’ve shared for the past eleven years.

“Are you tired?”

You nod, wanting desperately to crawl into bed, not sure whether or not you want Miranda to join you.

“You don’t have to worry I’ll sleep in the guest room until you tell me otherwise.”

“I can sleep in the guest room.”

You volunteer quickly.

“No, this is your room.”

She says forcefully and you correct her.

“Our room.”

“It will be, I have faith.”

Miranda pulls a white nightgown off a hanger and throws it gently on the bed.

“Your favourite. Why don’t you get changed? There’s bathroom right through that door. In the meantime, I’ll go downstairs and make us some tea.”

She is gone before you can even answer. In the next minute you are out of your clothes an into the nightgown before hurrying into the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. You did all that, carefully avoiding your reflection in the mirror. But, then against all your willpower you do raise your gaze to stare into a stranger’s face. Your face is a narrow oval, your cheekbones high, perhaps a touch prominent, but not nearly as those of Miranda. Your eyebrows are full and untended. Your nose is small and your lashes caked with mascara, although it seems to have been applied unevenly and with a heavy hand. Perhaps you had been rubbing your eyes, perhaps you had been crying. 

You don’t know.

You return to your bedroom and perch on the edge of the bed, wanting to crawl under the down-filled comforter, not knowing what to do with your hands. They move restlessly in your lap, clutching at the fabric of the nightgown.

“You look lovely.”

Miranda’s voice comes from beside you as she depositions the tray with two cup of tea on the nightstand.

“It’ll all come back to you. Just take your time. Don’t force things.”

She says as you gratefully accept a cup of tea from Miranda and draw the hot liquid into your mouth.

“Did the doctors say anything to you about how long this condition might last?”

“He said that most cases of hysterical amnesia, if that’s what we’re dealing with, usually reverse themsleves spontaneously, that it could be a matter of hours or days.”

“Or weeks or months.”

“It’s unlikely to go on for months, but it’s true, there’s no set timetable. Conditions like this usually right themselves out when they’re ready.

You sigh and look down at your cup.

“The tea’s good.”

You watch Miranda’s lips twitch into a small smile.

“Specialty of the house. Here, take this.”

She hands you a couple of small white pills.

“What’s this?”

“A mild sedative.”

“A sedative? Why? I don't have any trouble sleeping.”

“It’s just to relax you.”

You study the two tiny pills, feeling them heavy in the palm of your hand.

“They’re just to help you relax. They’re very mild, really. You won’t feel any after effects.”

You prop the pills into your mouth and swallow them down with the last bit of your tea. Then, reach over for one of the cookies, as you bite into it you watch a cascade of crumbs spill to the carpet at your feet.

“Oh god, am I always this sloppy?”

You bend over to pick up the crumbs and feel your head reel, the room spin. 

“Whoa!”

Miranda is instantly by your side, helping you to your feet, guiding you to lay down on the bed.

“You must be really exhausted.”

You hear her say as she pulls down the comforter and positions you under the sheets.

“There’s no way on earth those pills work that fast.” 

“I am tired.”

You agree, closing your eyes, knowing you had been fighting your fatigue for too long, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

“Get some rest.”

Miranda says softly, kissing your forehead as if you were a small child.

“Mhmm...”

And that’s the last thing you remember as in the next instant you’re gone, fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hands flew so sorry for any mistakes <3


	4. Dizziness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You sleep... a lot

You wake up soaking wet, bathed in sweat from head to toe, finding Miranda by your side.

“It’s alright now, you had a nightmare. Let me get a washcloth. I’ll be right back.”

You sit in bed, shaking and shivering in turn, until Miranda returns. You have no memory of your dreams, nor of any day before yesterday. It makes you want to cry on the spot, but you don’t. Although, you remember the feeling of stark terror that had violated every pore of your body. You shudder, the revulsion causing you to gag.

“Take deep breaths.”

Miranda says, running a cool cloth over your forehead.

“That’s right. Keep taking deep breaths. Try to relax. Everything’s okay now.”

“I feel awful..”

“I know. But it’s okay now. It’s over.”

You see she’s only wearing a shirt, something she had undoubtedly thrown on when she heard you scream. What dreams have you taken her from? You wonder as she lays you back against the pillows. You feel the soothing cool cloth against your arm. Suddenly, you feel something prick the exposed surface of your skin. You gasp, lifting your head. 

“It’s just a shot of something to help you sleep without the nightmares.”

Miranda tells you soothingly, returning the syringe to her side. 

“You need to sleep.”

She kisses a damp hair away from your forehead. 

“It’s the best thing for you.”

You nod, studying her face in the near darkness, see the fear and loneliness she tries so hard to hide, and long to reach out and touch her, draw her to you, let her hold you through the night. Instead, you feel your eyes start to close. You know she won’t leave you until you’re safely asleep, and you fight to stay awake. Through half-closed lids, you see her lift her hand to her head to push back some hair from her forehead. And that’s when you see the long row of stitches that snake along the side of her scalp just above the hairline, normally hidden by her hair. 

What’s that? You try to ask, but your mouth is too dry to form the necessary words. What happened to your head? You want to know, but before you can force the question from your mouth, you’re surrounded by darkness, falling into the dreamless sleep she has promised.

You open your eyes to the sun streaming through the shutters. You sit up slowly, waiting for your eyes to focus and the buzzing in your ears to stop. You swallow several times, trying to draw moisture into your mouth, which feels as dry as if a wad of cotton had been stuffed inside it, like a gag. Then you try to stand.

The room spins; your head swaying precariously on your shoulders, as if too sudden a move will cause it to tumble to the floor. It seems a massive weight, too imposing for your fragile body to sustain. You fall back onto the bed.  
Your eyes lock on the mirror, seeing multiple pictures of yourself, wishing your reflection would sit still.

“Who the hell _are_ you?”

Your reflection wavers, then falls from view as a fresh wave of dizziness pushes you back onto the pillows. 

“Take it slow.”

You advise, knowing it is slow or not at all.

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the dizziness, but it only sends your head reeling, and you’re forced to close your eyes to keep from fainting. Your head feels numb, anesthetized, frozen. It feels vast, filled with poisonous gas, in danger of exploding.  
With your eyes closed, you try to bring yourself up-to-date.

You’re in yours and Miranda Croft’s home. Obviously had a wonderful life. What possibly could have taken place to make you want to throw it all away, to pretend it has never happened?

When you open your eyes the next time it’s dark outside. You didn’t even realise you fell asleep. How could you sleep so long? You ask yourself, a small frown forming on your forehead which only aids your headache to grow worse.

“What is it?”

You hear Miranda from the doorway, making you jump. 

“Are you alright? You’re not in any pain...?”

“I’m fine.”

You tell her quickly, the sight of her bringing you to your feet.

“I’m so glad to see you.”

Whether it’s because you’ve had no other human contact today or because she’s showing so much care, you don’t know. In the next instant you’re in her arms. 

“I missed you.”

You whisper sheepishly. You’re almost foolishly happy to see her.

“I’m glad. I was hoping you’d feel that way.”

She pulls back, scrutinizing you from arm’s length, although she doesn’t let go of you.

“What’s the matter? Did something happen?”

“It’s not that.”

You say wondering just what it is.

“I guess maybe I was expecting too much. I don’t know. I guess I thought that once I got home, my memory would come back.”

“It will. Give it time.”

“How was your day?”

You ask, and laugh self-consciously.

Once again, she folds you into her arms.

“Busy. Very busy.”

Her hands smoothed the hair at the back of your neck. 

“I’m so sorry I had to run out of here this morning. I hadn’t planned to go to work today, but it was just one emergency after another, and I didn’t want to phone in case you were asleep.”

The sound that escapes your mouth is halfway between a laugh and a snort.

“I did a lot of sleeping today. I think it must be those pills.”

“Your body’s just exhausted. You need it. And on that account, it’s time for your pills again.”

You watch Miranda fish them out of her pocket and reach for the glass of water on the nightstand, bringing both to your lips.

“Must I?”

You ask, looking up at her with nearly pleading eyes. You hate pills, and somehow you think it’s the one thing you do remember.

“You’re not going to give me a hard time, are you?”

You shake your head and swallow obediently, as if you don’t already feel like a helpless child.

“I just want you to feel better.”

Her voice is but a distinct whisper, patronizingly so, as darkness envelopes you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if my updates come slower during the next week or so. My wifi just hates me :(  
> Anyways I hope you had a nice reading


	5. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You just wanted a change of scenery...

Almost a week has passed since Miranda brought you home from the hospital. In that time you have done little but eat and sleep. When you aren’t sleeping, you have to fight to stay awake, and when you are awake, you have to fight to keep from being depressed. The longer you stay awake, the more depressed you become. The only way to escape the depression is to fall asleep. You’d even managed to sleep through an appointment Miranda had set up for you with a psychiatrist. He had extra cleared his calendar for you because as Miranda had put it; he owned her a favour. But when she’d come home to pick you up, after rearranging her own schedule, you wouldn’t rouse. Miranda set up another appointment for six weeks from now, the psychiatrist unwilling to put himself out a second time. Surely in six weeks, you pray, you would no longer require his services. This nightmare would be over.

Today, awake for once, you stand in front of the window, staring outside at the street and the house of your neighbour - Alice Miranda had said - apparently you used to be somewhat close. Although you don’t know if that defines as drinking coffee on your front porch or sharing your darkest secrets (if you even have any of those). You feel lucky for anyone who has ever shared one of those with you because even if you wanted to you couldn’t spread them.   
Maybe you can go over? Miranda probably already told her about your condition, so maybe if you’re really friends, in what seems to have been another life, she’d help.  
And that’s exactly how you find yourself at her door, hesitant to knock at first. But, what do you really have to lose? Nothing. You’ve already lost an entire life.

As soon as the door opens and Alice’s eyes land upon you, the colour drains from her round face, her expression hovering uneasily between worry and fear. Apparently, that’s what you do to people nowadays.  
Is she worried about what she should say? Or frightened by what you might say?

“Miranda told me about your amnesia.”

She begins.

“I guess you must be pretty scared.”

“I’m more anxious than scared. I just wish I knew why this is happening. I have a feeling that once I know that, the rest will fall into place.”

“You can’t remember anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Well maybe I can help you out, but do come in first and have some coffee. How are you feeling?”

Alice immediately backed into her front hall to let you enter.

“Not bad.”

You lie, feeling lousy. You follow her to the kitchen, situated at the back of the house just like yours you note. 

“I haven’t called because I didn’t want to bother you. Miranda said she’d phone if there’s anything you needed.”

“There’s nothing I need.”

Except your sanity.

“I’m being very well looked after.”

 _I’m being held prisoner in my own home_ , you want to say, but don’t, knowing how melodramatic it would sound, how unfair a statement it is. In truth, you are being very well looked after. Miranda couldn’t be more caring. She has her job and yet still somehow manages to tend to your every need, seeing to your every desire. 

“I’m glad to hear that. My name is Alice as Miranda has probably already mentioned. I’ve been your neighbour for about three years I think. About that. When you first moved in, you came running right over with this wonderful chocolate cake, said it was you specialty. Best chocolate cake I’ve eaten.”

You smile at that, even when you can’t remember it’s still nice to hear.

“Go ahead ask me anything, Obviously, I’m not shy. I have no secrets.”

You study Alice’s hands that are twisting in her lap and after a long pause you speak.

“I don’t know what to ask...”

Alice looks at her lap and then back at you.

“I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you need anything. If you have any questions at all.”

“Thank you.”

She is about to say something when you hear a frantic knocking on the door. 

Alice is already on her feet.

“It’s probably just one of my kids, who’s forgotten something.”

You know even before she reaches the front door that it’s not.

“Is she here?”

You hear Miranda ask, her voice just shy of hysteria.

“Yes she is. We were just having some coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“I’ve been frantic.”

Miranda says, rushing into the kitchen and confronting you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out?”

“I didn’t think it was necessary. You were busy. I didn’t want to bother you.

“I went to see if you needed anything, and you weren’t in your room. I searched the entire house, the backyard, the garage. I even ran up and down the street twice before I thought of coming here.”

She seems on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

You tell her, and you are. It had been very irresponsible of you to leave the house without at least telling Miranda where you’d be. Why didn’t you?

“You will be.”

It’s so quiet that you wonder if you’d simply conjured it up in your mind, nonetheless you flinch back a little. What does she mean?

“I just wanted to get out of the house for a while.”

“Well, I can understand that. Just that next time, I wish you would tell me first.”

“Next time I will.”

“I’ll make sure you do. And in the meantime, we really should get home. You should have a little nap before dinner.”

“I know. It’s time for my pills.”

One moment you were about to accept a cookie from Alice and the next you’re back, sitting in your room on the bed with another pair of pills in your hand. 

“Do I have to?”

You ask similarly to before, having grown a little habit. 

“If you’re going to be difficult, I’ll have to go back to the shots.”

“No please.”

You shake your head, quickly swallowing your medication.

“If you want privileges, you have to behave.”

“Privileges are what you give to children.”

“When you act like a child, you get treated like one, and on that account-”

You barely progress her grabbing your wrist, tugging sharply until you lay with your back facing the ceiling across Miranda’s lap.

“No, what are you doing?”

You ask, barely able to keep your eyes open as she lifts your nightgown up to your hips, caressing your bare bottom.

“When you act like a child, you also get punished like one.”

Her hand comes down harshly across your tender flesh. You whimper silently as you find yourself unable to move or protest in any way as the pills seemingly numb your every cell. 

At some point, you’re barely aware of the spanks anymore, your mind slowly giving into the exhaustion you’re feeling all of a sudden. And when she stops, pulls your nightgown back down, and tucks you _safely_ under the covers, you’re completely gone.

“I’m only doing this for you.”

Again, it’s so far that you wonder if it hadn’t just been part of your dream. Though, dream or nightmare, you can’t say just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one and I'm telling you, no one could ever predict the end of this ff lmao. I feel so evil istg :)


	6. Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't abandon this, but my uterus just enjoys ripping me apart every month :)

The first hour is the hardest. Opening your eyes to the knowledge that  
the supposedly restorative powers of sleep have done nothing to restore your memory yet again send you reeling into the bathroom to throw up whatever of last night’s dinner you had managed to get down. 

_Last night.. ___

__“Oh God.”_ _

__You whisper, feeling a bubble of heat explode inside you as last night’s events come back to you. Had it all been in your head? The soreness you feel when you sit down to calm yourself, tells you otherwise._ _

__“Please don’t faint. Whoever you are please don’t faint.”_ _

__You cry, but the wave of heat continues to wash across your body, sweeping past your legs and stomach into your arms and neck, getting caught in your throat. You feel as if you are melting from the inside out, as if, at any minute, you might burst into flames. You splash more water on your face, but it does nothing to cool you off or calm you down. Your hands fall to the nightgown your wearing, it looks more like a white curtain. Why do you keep putting it on? You eyes demand of their mirror image.  
Because every time you throw it into the hamper, you know who washes it and lays it back across your pillow. And it’s easier to wear it than to fight about it. And it’s safe, you realise. You don’t have to worry about it stirring anything in your wife that you aren’t prepared to deal with yet. _ _

__You run your hands across your body, your fingers grazing the tips of your breasts, the slight swell of your stomach. How often did you and Miranda make love? And what kind of lover is she?  
You drop your hands to your side. These aren’t questions you are prepared to deal with. What’s the point in activating these impulses if you aren’t ready to act on them. _ _

__Are you ready to act on them? Are you ready to make love to a woman you don’t know just because she’s your wife?_ _

__“Are you?”_ _

__You ask the woman in the mirror who shrugs._ _

__“Slut.”_ _

__You say, and laugh, then spin around, almost expecting to see Miranda’s disapproving face in the doorway. Then you remember it’s Saturday. Miranda has weekend off unless there’s an emergency. It would just be you and her. Lots of time to act on these desires should you make a choice. Could that really be what you want? Could it be as simple as that?_ _

__Maybe your enforced celibacy is the cause of your headaches. Or the reason of your continued depression. Maybe you just aren’t used to going this long without sex! And what would be the harm in going to bed with the woman? You find her more than attractive. And she is your wife, after all. You’d been sleeping together for years. It isn’t as if you’d just been introduced. It isn’t as if you’d just met her and agreed to come home with her. Except that is exactly how it is._ _

__And you don’t know her any better now than you did a week ago. Oh, you know about her. You know the details of her life, of your life together. You know that she is kind and sensitive and patient, and everything about you could wish for in a partner. Maybe that’s all you have to know._ _

__So what if you don’t remember her? Is that really necessary? You know her for just over a week now. People often hop into bed together after knowing one another far less time than that. And you like her. Even in your confused, depressed state you find her attractive. So what would be the harm in inviting her into your bed? Clearly, she is waiting for an invitation, though she hadn’t said a word. What would be so wrong about that?_ _

__“I don’t know.”_ _

__You whisper, opening one of the closets and fishing through the top drawer for your black lace garters. You hold them up for your reflection to see, are satisfied by the expression of shock they elicit._ _

__“These would probably get her going.”_ _

__Is that what you want? Do you really want to get her going? You better be damn sure before you start anything._ _

__“I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.”_ _

__You say angrily, returning the garters to the drawer and slamming the closet door shut._ _

__“I can’t think clearly. My head feels like someone stuffed it full of rocks..”_ _

__You bring your hands to the back of your skull and dig your nails into your scalp, feeling it tingle._ _

__“My head hurts.”_ _

__You cry._ _

__“My head hurts and I can’t think clearly, and I’m tired all the time.”_ _

__“Goddammit what’s the matter with you?”_ _

__You yell at your own reflection. It has to be the pills you are taking. Despite Miranda’s assurances that they are mild, obviously they are too strong for you. The pills are responsible for your disorientation and depression, for your constant fatigue and sense of hopelessness. Yet every time you question Miranda about them, every time you ask her if they are really necessary, she tells you that your doctor has specifically prescribed them, with instructions that you continue to take them for at least several more weeks._ _

__Had those been his instructions?_ _

__“Now, what does that mean?”_ _

__You demand of your reflection, wondering from what perverse corner of your brain this strange thought sprung._ _

__“What are you trying to say? That Miranda is lying to you? That the doctor never prescribed any medication? That Miranda is deliberately trying to keep you drugged and dopey and depressed? Why? And how can you be having such thoughts about a woman you were only moments ago ready to hop into bed with?”_ _

__“Because I am obviously crazy. Who else but a crazy person would argue with her own reflection?”_ _

__“There’s an easy way to find out.”_ _

__The woman in the mirror informs you, silently passing the message through the glass._ _

__“Call him.”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“Call the _good_ doctor. He told you to call him any time. Call him and ask him whether he prescribed any drugs for you or not._ _

__How can you do that?_ _

__Easy. Just pick up the phone and dial._ _

__Your head spins towards the phone on the nightstand. Is it really that easy? Is that all you have to do?_ _

__Your hand reaches for the phone, then stops. What if Miranda walks in? Where is she anyway? It’s after nine in the morning. Is she still asleep?_ _

__You walk purposefully out of your room into the hall, careful not to make any noise. If she’s sleeping, you don’t want to disturb her. At least not yet. You tiptoe down the hall , peeking into every room. But, the bed in the guest room is untouched and she’s in no other of the rooms. You hear barking and approach the window in Miranda’s office. Or is this your office? You don’t know. She hasn’t really given you a tour yet._ _

__You glance outside, seeing Miranda talking to Alice on her front lawn, apparently she has a dog, who isn’t exactly quiet, but barking impatiently and pulling on his leash. They seem concerned, their gazes directed at the grass beneath them. You hope it isn’t about you._ _

__Dragging your feet behind you, you return to your bedroom, feeling angry and ashamed. Has she done anything, one single thing to make you question her. To make you think she might be feeding you unnecessary drugs? No! She’s done nothing but look after you._ _

__And feed you pills around the clock._ _

__You can’t help it now that for once the throwing up had cleared your stomach of them. Tentatively, you reach for the phone and lift it up, noticing its on mute. Miranda must’ve left it like that as not to disturb you in your sleep. And here you are about to repay her thoughtfulness by checking up on her._ _

__It is too easy to call information and for the machine to connect you with the hospital and the right doctor._ _

__“I’m so sorry to bother you..”_ _

__“Don’t be sorry. I’m delighted to hear from you. Is everything alright?”_ _

__“I’m not sure.”_ _

__“What can I do for you?”_ _

__“It’s these pills you prescribed for me. I was wondering what exactly they are.”_ _

__“I believe I prescribed Ativan. Yes Ativan, I have it right here in my files.”_ _

__“But, why do I need to be taking anything at all?”_ _

__“A mild sedation usually works well in cases of hysteric amnesia.”_ _

__“But, I’m so tired all the time, and depressed..”_ _

__“That’s not out of keeping with the situation. You’re bound to get more depressed the longer this thing drags on. And as for your fatigue, well, I’d say your body is trying to tell you something, you need to sleep. Don’t fight it. Listen to what your body tells you.”_ _

__“So, you don’t think it’s the medication that’s making me feel this way?”_ _

__Why are you asking him that? Hadn’t he just told you that it’s a mild tranquilizer?_ _

__“It’s just that I feel so helpless, like I have no control.”_ _

__You stop suddenly aware of Miranda’s footsteps on the stairs._ _

__“I should go. I’ve bothered you enough.”_ _

__And with that you put the phone away quickly, a wave of guilt washing over you._ _

__How could you have doubted her?_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, hm?

**Author's Note:**

> I will murder myself if I don't finish this one smh


End file.
